


I'll put up a sign in the clouds so they all know that we ain't ever coming down (I'm trying so hard not to let it show)

by ApparentlyNotTooOldForThis (Original_Cypher)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Autumn Cozy Fic Exchange, Kink, LGBTQ, Larry Stylinson fic exchnage, M/M, discussion of sexual and gender identity, fic exchnage, pitch hitter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-13
Updated: 2014-10-13
Packaged: 2018-02-21 00:31:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2448737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Original_Cypher/pseuds/ApparentlyNotTooOldForThis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry's antics on stage, flamboyant wardrobe and resulting social media commentary have made Louis think. Probably too much, as usual. Time for action.</p><p>Prompt: “Another idea is feminine!Harry with Louis unsure of how to deal with it at first but of course it's Harry so he adapts and is fiercely protective and wonderful and lovely”</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll put up a sign in the clouds so they all know that we ain't ever coming down (I'm trying so hard not to let it show)

**Author's Note:**

> Uh, somehow, even though they're barely present, Ziam, and most specifically Liam insisted on being featured quite a bit? I hope that's okay? It just kinda happened.

When Harry walks backstage after the photo shoot, he gets a little turned around on his way back from the loo. When he he finds the room where they'll get picked up from again, only Louis and Zayn are in yet. They're crowded close, holding themselves a specific way that has a grin tugging at Harry's lips. The very same way that would have Liam sigh and start to worry. It's a visible sign of the 'Zouis mode'. When they are like this, conspiring in whispered half sentences and choked off giggles, you know they're up to something.

“Tonight?” Zayn's eyes are sparkling at Louis, deep swirls of melted chocolate and glee. They haven't spotted Harry yet.

"Yeah." Louis speaks quietly and shrugs a shoulder. He lifts one hand to wrap around his opposite elbow, hugging himself, then speaks again, softer and more confident. “Yeah.”

“Alright!” Zayn keeps staring at Louis' face, his lips twitching into a smile Harry can't quite decipher. “Fuck, _Lou_.”

“Shut up,” Louis reaches out to poke at Zayn's stomach, nudging the tanner man away as he squirms. He looks quite self conscious when he stumbles a step back himself, his arm curling back in protectively across his stomach. “I know, shut up.”

Harry barely hears the last words over the sound of a stampede in the hall behind him. No, wait. Not a stampede. A bleached whirlwind. Same diff, really.

Zayn and Louis look over as Niall appears, Liam in tow. Louis' eyes find his and something twists in Harry's chest when the older boy's face breaks into a soft smile. It's the one he only ever gives _him_. Still, to this day, Harry can't believe he gets to have this. Gets to _cause_ this. But there's the proof, every day. No matter the doubts and the rules and the lies, he can't forget, because the moment his fingertips brush against Louis, he can see tension slip from his posture, shoulders slumping faintly, new, different crinkles forming around his eyes. “Hey, love,” Louis' fingers graze above Harry's waistband in greeting. “Good shoot?”

He means the solo part, obviously. The group shots were nice. They actually had fun like they hadn't had in a while. Probably because they were allowed to interact freely, for a chance. Which resulted in the initial set being 'rearranged' - read: mauled -, and in a lot more touching that there has been in their official pictures in recent years. Today, though, the photographer is walking out with all kinds of shots of them in a pile, tangled and laughing in the middle of chaos like they used to be at the beginning. Like they've always been in private, really. Harry's not naïve, he doubts the picture in which he's managed to get his and Louis' fingers tangled together behind Liam's back will be used, but it feels so nice that it got to happen, to even _exist_ , as a moment in time. All the ones in which Harry and Niall are making kissy face at each other won't be used either. Or that one with Louis and Niall tucked against his sides and Liam giggling in Zayn's neck like a lovesick puppy. Those will never even be released as outtakes. But they're still fresh, not only in their minds, but running under their skin. It shows in the way Zayn's eyes sparkle when they settle on Liam.

Niall and Liam had their solo shoots ahead of Harry. They're just now coming back from... surprise, surprise, a detour by the food stand. “Got extra smoothies,” Niall announces, ducking eyebrows at them. “You lads want some?”

“What flavor?” Zayn asks before Harry can.

Liam sets down the small cardboard tray holding the cups and steps behind the dark haired lad, hand falling on Zayn's hip naturally. He smiles and leans down to catch his lips in greeting, makeup be damned. Zayn turns, cupping Liam's jaw as he deepens the kiss, humming quietly in satisfaction when Liam's other hand settles over his heart.

Both are smirking when they part. “Yeah, I'll have some,” Zayn decides.

Harry catches Louis' fond gaze and they exchange a gooey smile over their friends. Aww. Young love. Harry holds in a giggle and still quite can't believe he, 1D's youngest member, gets to be all condescending and more experienced at _something_. Louis' fingers knock into his softly before they set off to approach the offered beverages. “Ugh,” Niall tells Zayn and Liam, elloquant in his disdain, and turns to eye him and Louis warily. “Stay off of me.”

Louis snorts back at him, and it's all it takes for Niall's pretense to break and the blond beams back. Louis sways to his tippy toes and pecks Harry's lips with a pleased expression. “I'll have a straw.”

“Stop it,” Niall groans. “stop being all so damn cute and not lonely or I'll start puking rainbows and write sappy songs about how proud and happy for you I am.”

Liam giggles and hides in Zayn's neck, but he doesn't let go. Zayn sips at his freshly stolen drink instead of taking one of his own.

“The puking rainbows part might end up quite literal,” Harry muses, gesturing at the brightly colored drinks.

“That one's thicker,” Louis says, passing it along to Harry without checking.

“Extra banana.” Niall confirms.

Harry would say he hates being so predictable, but this is just proof to him that he's known and loved. “Thanks.”

Louis examines a bright, pinkish drink. Harry examines the curve of his back as he bends over. “Strawberry?” Louis inquires, swaying his hips to show he knows exactly what his boyfriend is doing. Harry tries to look innocent while stifling chuckles.

“Raspberry,” Niall corrects. “Banana, apple, carrot and ginger.”

“ _Yusss_...” Louis picks it up with a gleeful smile.

Over his pleased noise, they almost miss Liam's whisper of “... pretty sure _that_ one's thicker.” against Zayn's lips. Harry wants to _unsee_ where his hand has settled.

“Oi! _Puking_.” Niall cries. “Aiming at you, Payne.”

 

xxx

 

It's something they do sometimes. Harry lies in his underwear, Louis curled up against him, naked safe for a pair of sweats, and they go through their twitter mentions. The others don't understand. But amongst the 'faggot' and 'feed me ur cock' and 'go die' and 'please follow me', there are genuine messages. Support, people expressing what a song or quote means to them. There is so much vicious hatred, but if you hang on and keep looking, there is just as much love. Not just _for_ them, but amongst the fans. Harry is warmed inside by the incredible sense of community he finds when he uses a sock puppet and dives into the crazy realm of the directioners. It's even more unbelievable that it all started over _them_. It goes beyond that. Friendships and love stories and projects and charities are born from... from magic. From that one idea. _Hey, what do you think would happen if we put those five boys together? I reckon it'd sound quite nice._

“When did camp become a thing?” he muses out loud, snickering as he passes another picture of himself doing his ballerina routine on stage tagged 'sparkle Harry'.

“For you?” Louis asks, then hides his face against one inked swallow – _his_ bird – when Harry pauses to save a particularly spectacular shot of Louis' eyes.

“No, I mean, when did it become a thing people say. Like... at some point in time, 'gay' stopped being 'cheerful', you know? But that was before. I feel like... I don't think I heard 'camp' that way when I was a kid. For me 'camp' meant log cabins and mosquitoes.”

“And footie camp.”

“And _'this one time, at band camp'_...”

Louis chuckles. His feet rub over Harry's ankles, tracing tattoos unintentionally. The screen of the phone has gone dark again during their exchange, and Louis plucks it out of Harry's fingers, tossing it aside. He nudges his hand in its vacated place, giving something else for Harry to fiddle with. He complies happily.

“ _Camp_.” Louis muses, his mind apparently still running on the same track. “They keep saying how you bend gender definitions, with the... like, the flowers and the shirts and the...” he hooks a leg over one of Harry's, nudging closer with a smirk playing on his lips. “... shaking it like a porn star.”

Harry snorts. “Hm.” He doubts he is porn star material, but other than that, he can't deny it. He doesn't give a fuck. He'll put on a tiara and prance around like a parody of a ballet dancer, and it'll crack him up just as much as arm wrestling with Niall or entering a daring competition with Liam over who will climb the highest cliff before jumping in the water. He doesn't care which are supposed to be manly and which are 'camp' or 'gay'. If he _feels_ like it, then voila.

Yes, he's the one that does the laundry, because Louis can't be arsed to sort whites from darks and colors and although Harry likes pink, he doesn't like all of their light linens to come out stained because Louis washed them with something red. Yes, he'll let Louis handle the small repairs and DIYing because he's more likely to hit too hard or get his own fingers rather than the nail. But Louis' the resident expert laundry folder, and he's the one keeping track of what is needed for the next groceries run. They both scream at the telly when footie is on, and they both sing along to musicals and end Moulin Rouge at the last curtain close because they prefer to skip the end. They don't care what is 'camp' and what is 'appropriate'. They're a perfect fit, and that's that.

“But it's not true, isn't it?” Louis' touch trails around the edge of a butterfly wing, slips downwards to cup a hipbone, thumb tracing the laurels inked there. He smiles at the crazy theories the fans have come with. From the more reasonable 'laurel crowns symbolizes achievement and Harry and his mates have certainly achieved heaps' to 'they are the crowning glory to celebrate Louis' talented blowjobs'. They couldn't know the real story. They weren't there that first Christmas when both Styles and Tomlinsons celebrated together because the boys were just _that_ inseparable. They weren't in the kitchen, cooking as a pack, when Gemma held a bunch of laurels over their heads jokingly, pretending it was mistletoe and goaded them on. They didn't see Anne's disapproving 'don't tease your brother' look. They didn't see Louis' cautious, yet hopeful smile before Harry leaned in and effectively shut his sister up. They weren't the ones that came out as a couple to their entire family – some more surprised than others –, and left fingerprints of flour on each other's chins and cheeks. Louis can't forget the swell of _everything_ that threatened to choke him then, when Gemma made a surprised, squeaking sound and Anne just burst out laughing at her expression. When Harry grinned back at him, speaking 'yes, to everything' without words. He can't forget, because he feels it every time Harry touches him. Every time their eyes meet. And yes, he sobbed like a baby when Harry came home one day and hissed as Louis engulfed him into a hug, only to admit that he _may_ have done a thing. Gotten some ink in secret. On Louis' birthday. That very day's anniversary. It took that gesture for Louis to understand the memory meant the same to Harry.

He's pulled back to reality when Harry catches his hand and brings it up to press his lips against Louis digits tenderly. Their eyes meet. “What do you mean?”

Right. Harry and feminine mannerism. Or camp. Or however they want to call it. “I know how you... like, you feel offended every time someone disrespects a woman just because they have a dick because you feel like they're disrespecting themselves.” It's not the most gracious way to phrase it, but it's pretty much the idea.

“I know you feel the same, Boo.” Harry presses the words against Louis' palm, his tone soft as if he thinks Louis need reassurance right now.

“I do,” Louis agrees easily. “but... you like... you feel more strongly about it than I do. You speak up.” Harry shrugs. Like it's no big deal. That it doesn't take courage to face the shit he gets for it. “Not just because you're braver, also because you, like... you can't help it.”

“Maybe.” He squeezes Louis' fingers. “You're as brave as I am, Lou.”

Which is a filthy lie, but Louis will let it slide because that's not where he's headed. “Not the point, Hazza **,** shush.”

“There's a point?” Harry asks, only half teasing. His eyes are bright on Louis' face. It's not like he missed the wistful, seriousness of the moment, but he seems to have just realized that Louis possibly planned that conversation ahead, or has a specific intent in mind.

“Yeah, I... I mean to say, like... These people, they say.... you bend gender definitions... or that you like to act feminine, but that's not true.”

Harry chuckles. “... I did put on a tutu on stage, just a week ago, on our last tour date, though.”

“Yeah, but...” Louis frowns. Man, this thoughts are jumbled. Not for the first time, he wishes there could be a way he could press his hands to Harry's head and make him _know_. How he feels. What he thinks. Because, even though he speaks a lot of words and has a clever tongue, he's more used to do it to disguise what he means than actually lay it out clearly for someone to understand.

Harry regards him calmly. He's used to Louis like this, struggling to word out intricate concepts that his mind comes up with. “What are you getting at?”

“That...” The thing is, Louis knows exactly where he's leading this, just... he's trying to find the right words. Not to be misunderstood, or indelicate. And it's possible that he might be a bit scared as well. “Like, unless I've missed something quite massive, you do, in fact, identify as a guy...” he forces out, feeling like he's diving off a cliff. There. It's out. “Hundred percent.”

“Oh.” Harry's eyes widen, just a fraction. Louis' fleet away. “ _Oh_. Yeah. I do. I'm a boy.”

Harry's hand is warm and grounding as it gives a gentle squeeze. Louis tries to get his heartbeat under control. He looks up and meets Harry's gaze, licks his lips. “Manchild.”

A dimple makes an appearance in Harry's cheek. “Fine. Manchild.” He ducks forward and steals a kiss right off of Louis' lips. “What brought this on?”

“Patience, Harold.” Louis shushes him with a finger pressed to his lips. In the same movement, he contradicts his action by sliding that same finger, along with all other four, into Harry's mane and tugging him closer for a deeper, longer embrace. Harry scoots closer, sighing happily. His hand slips around to Louis' spine and he nudges them closer, closing that last gap and molding their bodies together the way they fit so well. It's a lazy dance of lips together, long drags of mouths, wet, chapped skin catching, and teasing tongues chasing each other. It's a practiced dance that never, ever gets boring. Louis lets out a quiet whine he's long stopped feeling bashful over when Harry pulls back, resting their foreheads together.

“Okay.” Harry breathes, voice a little raw. That doesn't make Louis' gut twist at all. Nope. “No more kissing or I'm gonna stop paying attention.” Then Louis should probably stop staring at his lips, too, because he's losing his grip on his thoughts a little bit as well, and if he's not careful, there might not be much left for Harry to pay attention to.

“Ditto,” he murmurs, and comforts himself with one brief peck to Harry's mouth. He sighs, slumps back on himself, not actually putting any distance back between them. He returns to caressing. His thumb slides down, tracing the crease of Harry's hip, pushing the waistband of the boxers down until he reaches the spot. _His_ spot. The one he took to mouthing at to make Harry wild. The one he loved to suck at until he left a pretty bruise. L marks the spot. Literally. Harry's touch slides reflexively to the mirroring H on Louis, fingers slipping under the sweats to reach it. Louis is pretty sure it's not a conscious gesture. It's habit. Instinct. A bond. It's _them_.

He licks his lips and gets back to the point. “So what you do, in fact, is defy gender stereotypes. Assigned behavior. You don't act _feminine_. You act like a man who likes to put flowers in his hair and prance around in a tutu because it's fun.”

“Sounds about right.”

Pressed this close, it's easier to slip his arm over Harry's waist. He draws magic symbols of devotion up and down the knobs of his spine. “But it's... would you be like that if it wasn't a statement?”

Harry blinks. “What do you mean?”

Louis bites at his lip. This wasn't, actually, where he wanted to go with this conversation but... now he needs to know. Because he thinks, and thinks and always ends up scaring himself. “If there wasn't us. If you weren't _Harry Styles from One Direction_. If you and I were allowed to be who we are to each other in public. If that... if we didn't have a point to make, if _you_ didn't have a point to make.... Would you still be so... I dunno, loud, about it?”

Harry's eyebrows twitch in contemplation. “... I dunno.”

Louis has to know. Even though he knows that Harry is 100% himself when he wants to be, there are parts of Louis that think that being caged hasn't just forced them to act differently towards each other, but in general. There are parts of him that thinks it's his fault. “Is it because they forgot to put that close in _your_ contract?”

“Huh?” Apparently, this isn't a road Harry's mind doesn't often go down, which is mildly reassuring as it would tend to invalidate Louis' concerns.

“I'm the one who described himself as flamboyant, back in the day. Not you,” he recalls. “ _I_ was the one with the exuberant antics and loud mouth.” Which was fine enough until they all reached an age were sexuality is a thing and not a gray area. Because, yeah, Louis being gay and in a committed relationship is so... ugh. Right? The Larry bromance was cute and cool and adorable as long as they were fluffy kids looking innocent and then... It makes Louis bitter. All of that for the American market? Why? Because being gay doesn't sell? It doesn't sell well with teenage girls that think one day they're gonna marry you? He hopes, one day, they'll still be in the biz and they'll get to be older – or simply marketed to people their own damn age and allowed to have more creative liberties – and they can be themselves without it being a big deal. He'd love to find, someday, their names casually mentioned next to some NPH, Matt Bomer, Ellen or Ellen, and then the detail of their sexual orientation quickly dismissed in favor of discussing the latest song or tour...

Harry catches his eye. “You think I'm doing this for you?”

“... like... maybe _because_ of me?” Louis lifts a shoulder. “Because I can't?”

He's tugged in a hug, and Harry lets himself fall onto his back, dragging Louis along with him. “I don't know, Lou. I've never...” Harry muses pensively, while Louis rearranges himself and lays his hand over a swallow. “I don't really think about it.”

Louis snorts derisively. “That's not true. It's fucking deliberate and we both know it.” There might be a hint of pride in Louis' tone.

Louis bounces lightly against Harry's ribcage in time with his chuckles. “I know,” he says, turning serious again. “It's just... I don't think about why I'm doing it that much. Because I feel like it. And maybe... you're right, I'm probably pushing it a bit because... because it's the one thing they forgot to forbid. Because the fans are eating it up.”

“ _Some_ fans.”

“The real fans are the ones who like to see us happy, Lou.” _Real fans_ , Louis thinks bitterly. Like 'the real @Louis_Tomlinson' versus The Tommo, jester extraordinaire. _Real_ feels so fake, these days. “Like real friends. Whether... whether they think they see Larry or not. Whether they'd support it or not. Either way... a real fan doesn't tell me to cut or wash my hair. They'll tell me 'god, you look ridiculous, but... _go_ , do another arabesque on stage, love'.”

“That was my mom, Haz.”

“That was your mom,” Harry confirms, and they both chuckle.

“What brought this on, Lou?” Harry asks after a moment of quiet.

“Thinking.” Louis dodges on reflex, sometimes. The sass is automatic. It's a part of him.

It's also a part of Harry, and he's pretty versed in Louis' inner and outer workings. “No shit.”

A beat passes, Harry is obviously waiting for him to talk. He won't drop it. Louis doesn't want him to, either, because he did bring the subject up himself. But even when you're the one who signed up to go sky diving, when you're sitting in the plane, you need a moment to gather yourself, remember that you know how to fly. Gathering his thoughts.

Harry pokes him lightly in the ribs. “Honey.”

Louis smiles dopily, as he does, every time Harry calls him something special. You'd think he'd be over feeling like a schoolboy with a crush, by now, but _no_. “I love you.”

Harry dimples at him. “Love you too.” He squeezes his shoulder. “Don't think I missed the obvious dodge, mister.”

“I wasn't-...!” Louis starts to protest. There's no way Harry would believe the effect he has on Louis, though. He's always seemed to marvel at the fact that Louis even _stuck around_. “I was just thinking... about... gender. And sexuality. I guess.”

“How so?”

“Like... Like Lee says he thinks... like, the more he thinks about it, especially since Zayn... that he's...”

Harry shifts. “Liam's bi,” he says. “Right? I mean, fuck... isn't he?”

“Yeah, no. He is. He just... the other day we were talking and he...” Louis bites his lip, a wave of doubt crashing onto him. “shit, maybe I shouldn't be telling you this.”

Harry huffs a derisive breath. “Come on. How big can it be? We know everything about each other.” He's not wrong. Being in a band means a very tight bond, but theirs, specifically, has startled more than one. For people who didn't chose each other in the beginning – safe for Louis and Harry, albeit in a different way – they developed a very singular symbiotic relationship since then. “Plus, excuse me, but everybody who knows us knows telling one is like telling both.”

“True.” Louis sighs. “Yeah, you're probably right.”

“So?” Harry prompt. “What'd Lee say?”

He doesn't remember the words Liam used exactly, and he's once again trying to find the right phrasing to be true to the idea. “He's not too sure, yet. And... he came to me to talk about that, actually. I think he wanted reassuring that it was okay that he wasn't sure yet.”

“Sure about _what_ , Lewis, you tease?!” Harry growls playfully.

“He's leaning towards defining himself as queer.” Louis pushes out in a rush.

The moment of silence that follows seems to stretch out forever. Louis is still staring, eyes wide and unfocused, settled somewhere around Harry's belly button, when the younger man breaks it. “... as in _gender queer_.”

Louis swallows. “Yeah.”

“Huh,” Harry lets out, and doesn't offer more than that.

Louis peers up at him and finds him staring at the ceiling, blank expression on his face. “Babes?”

Harry makes a quiet sound, his eyebrows twitching into a frown briefly, before he seeks out Louis' eyes. “I guess it's kind of like trying to understand feeling straight.”

“You're okay with it, right?” On the off chance that Harry would be made uncomfortable by this little bombshell in the long run, Louis would kind of hate himself for betraying Liam's trust and being the one to throw his friend under the bus.

“Of course!” Harry gasps, alarmed expression immediately calming Louis' worries. “God, of course, I am!” Harry exclaims. “I was just... you know, wondering how that would be, if _I_ felt like that.”

“Yeah. I have been, too.” Louis nuzzles one of Harry's birds, resting his cheek on the place that seems to have been carved for him. “I mean, fuck. It's weird enough when you grow up and you slowly realize that you might not be attracted to what society seems to think you should be... but...”

Harry's hand rakes up and down his side, soft enough that in some spots it borders on ticklish. “... I have a cock. I've always been a boy. I've never... it's never even come to my mind to question that,” he muses. “I'm a bloke.”

“Talk about confusing.”

“Non binary...” Harry says again, pensive. “I guess that explains a bit how... like, how violent Liam's insecurities have been.”

Louis remembers. When Zayn happened. When... when it happened for real, and Liam was forced to admit to himself that his feelings towards their band mate went far beyond platonic and that Zayn being flat chested and having lean muscles and scruff instead of soft curves and a vag was not a problem, _at all,_ it hadn't been fun. Not for Zayn, not for the band, but especially not for Liam. Out of all of them, he was the one who had been blind to this possibility within himself, and it shattered, quite majestically and brutally, the entire image he had of himself. Louis remembers feeling a bit angry and bitter, deep down, and how meanly Liam had lashed out at the time. But he kept it all in, because he _saw_. He couldn't quite imagine what it was like for Liam. To feel like you just woke up without a clue, to feel like a fool, an oblivious idiot, duped, when it all came crashing down. All in all, Louis thinks Liam did quite a good job of handling that little epiphany, especially with the fame, the tour and the promo going on. And he remembers Liam showing up at his and Harry's door in tears, knowing Louis was alone and apologizing for things that didn't matter, and saying he knew Louis hated him right now. He remembers yanking him into a hug and righting that little misconception as quickly as he could.

Maybe Harry wasn't wrong. Maybe even then, already, Liam's inner turmoil and confusion had run deeper than _'I'm bisexual! How the fuck did I not know?! How did I not feel it before?!'_.

His head rises and falls with Harry's peaceful breaths, and he lets himself drift. It's insane to consider the life they have, and Louis will fall into fits of panic just thinking about it, sometimes. But what he likes to dwell on, no matter how mind boggling, is the past four years they have spent together. Despite how crazy they have been, it also warms him to the bones. He found another family with those boys. They've whispered to each other, while tired, while drunk, while high, and then later, sober and serious, that no matter what the future of One Direction holds, the future of _them_ is set. They will never part. If times get rough they'll do the F.r.i.e.n.d.s thing and move into a single flat. They're pretty much roomies half of the year anyway, and it's not like Zayn – and Liam, more often than not – lives just down the street from here. Louis doesn't care if that makes them sentimental saps or 'codependent'. Once you've found a place where you belong, when you've found people that love you and never tire of you, and you feel the same, you never let go.

Goosebumps run up his arm when Harry's fingertips trace the loops of rope on Louis' wrist that illustrates that very idea, that very promise they both made to each other. “So...” Harry's voice is soft, barely breaking the snuggly silence that has fallen upon them. “Have you lead us here so you could as me if I'm queer, Boo?”

“No, I...” No, actually. Louis frowns at the jumble of his thoughts. “Uh, maybe? _I don't know._ ”

Harry laughs, squeezing Louis tighter to his chest at the same time. It's not the most comfortable feat, but Louis only responds by tucking his own arm tighter across Harry's stomach. “It's okay,” Harry says. “Did you get what you needed?”

Louis sorts through the boxes he ticked off, absently running his thumb on Harry's skin. Almost everything. “I may have a few more questions.”

“Alright?” He makes it sound like a mix of assent and a prompt to go on, so Louis does.

“So... as a pansexual... monogamous... _male_....” Louis spaces the words to let them all state their full meaning.

“... in love,” Harry tacks on. “Yes. Go on.”

“In love,” Louis amends with a grin and a flutter of his heart. “... gender stereotypes don't matter to you.”

“No?” Harry's eyes are on him. Confused, but focused. He's not asking, only letting Louis know that he doesn't get it yet, but he trusts that he will figure it out once he goes on.

“At all?”

Harry's lips fall open to respond, then he stops himself, eyebrows furrowing briefly. “... well, I... I mean, I'm not perfect, I probably have some stupid imprinted macho assumptions somewhere about how guys and girls are, in general. But I try-...”

Louis licks his lips, choosing to cut Harry mid sentence, before they veer off topic again, before he loses his nerve, before he loses the most perfect opportunity to catch Harry off guard. “.,.-so if I wanted you to wear this...” He quickly jerks his loot from under a pillow and dangles it in between them. Panties made of dark gray silky fabric and black lace. “... that wouldn't make a difference?”

Louis is glad he can still process his senses over the tightness in his throat caused by nerves and anticipation. The change occurs in the blink of an eye, and Louis would have hated to miss it. Harry's eyes zero in on the piece of clothing, breath hitching high in his chest, just once. If Louis hadn't through his thigh over Harry's earlier to relieve his knee, then he would have missed the twitch of Harry's length, perking up in interest within the confines of his boxer briefs. “Uh huh,” Louis teases, sounding much more unaffected that he feels. “No difference at all. Obviously.”

Harry's eyes stay glued to the panties, wide and heated. He licks his lips. “What did you...” he tries and has to pause and swallow. His voice is so deliciously raw, Louis has to fight a shudder. “You, uh... you wanted me to wear that?”

“Yes.” Louis pushes himself out of their snuggle, and clambers onto Harry, framing his hips with his calves, sitting back onto Harry's lap. The panties are bunched in his fist, which he keeps on his own thigh. “but like... only if you want to.” He lays it all out. Yes, the thought is incredibly, _surprisingly_ titillating, but it is only appealing in a concrete way if Harry wants it too. Wants it for himself. He watches as green eyes flick back and forth between looking at him and staring at the undergarments as if to make sure he didn't dream them up, Harry's hand absently fitted to Louis' thigh. “I thought... Zee and I were goofing around and I thought...” Louis says quietly. “maybe it could be your thing.”

Now Harry's attention is solely on him. “You talk about this to Zayn?”

“Uh...”

“Jesus, Lou.” Harry huffs in laughter, shaking his head. Louis swallows down the sudden fear of Harry being mad at him over it.

“To be fair...” he jokes to hide his discomfort. “we also discuss index finger versus middle finger first and whether we'd shave if we had hairy toes, so... uh...”

Harry snorts, stomach rippling with giggles again, before he frowns up at Louis, an odd look on his face. “...seriously? You chat about fingering techniques?” Louis shrugs. “You guys have a weird friendship.”

In all fairness, it's absolutely true. Louis and Zayn have bonded and shared parts of themselves with each other that most people wouldn't expect. But then again, they did so while growing up together, struggling together, in an environment that was light years away from _normal_. Louis' pretty confident that anyone taking this into account will instead chose to marvel at how simple, silly and sane they've managed to remain.

Harry looks at the undies again, and Louis offers them out, gently depositing them at the center of his chest. Harry shivers. _Fascinating_.

“So,” he croaks, emboldened. “I mean... I don't wanna... would you like it?”

Harry chews on his lower lip, bringing a hand to touch the cloth. He presses it to his skin, rubbing the soft fabric against his breastbone experimentally.

 _Jesus Christ_.

“Would you?” Harry asks. His voice sounds a bit strained, but it's serious. It seems to be mirroring Louis' earlier concerns.

Louis dodges. “I asked first.”

Harry rolls his hips, rocking the half hard evidence of his response against Louis' bum. “I answered first.”

Louis bites his lower lip, grinning as he feels goosebumps race up his back. He ignores the embarrassment and focuses on the excitement coursing through his veins to force out his next words. “I uh... well, actually Zayn was joking...” he admits, trying hard to ignore the heat that's taken over his face. “And then we actually _talked_ about it because he fucking saw my face when he did. So.” He meets Harry's gentle eyes for a second before he chickens out again and talks to the butterfly instead. “I didn't... I didn't know.”

“That it'd turn you on?”

Harry's statement is so real, blunt. Inescapable. Then again, Louis went and _bought_ the stupid thing. He swallows. “Is it weird?”

“Yes.” Harry's fingers stop playing with the fabric to resettle on his hip, both hands framing Louis' pelvis as he rocks up softly. There's a hitch in his voice when he speaks next. “but Boo, when you look under the surface a little bit... What isn't?”

In an ironic role reversal, Louis finds himself staring at the undies while Harry watches him carefully. “Right.”

Right. So... Harry is okay with this. Or at least, he's okay with Louis not knowing what to do with himself at the mere idea of Harry-... “My god, you're _shy,_ ” Harry breathes, awed. Louis looks up to find him staring back in wonder. “You're shy about this. I haven't seen you like that in _ages_.”

“Shut up.” Louis blushes furiously, feeling even warmer at the utterly endeared look on Harry's face as he strokes his thighs soothingly.

“Come here.” Harry simply presses his fingers into Louis skin, tugging faintly, and tips his chin up. Louis is powerless to resit. He mostly always is, around Harry, but the instinctive response to lean in for a kiss is overwhelming, steamrolling over his self consciousness. Their lips meet with practiced ease, Louis finds his balance with one hand next to Harry's head, and sinks into it. Harry makes a tiny noise as their lips part and Louis tongue seeks him out, like a purr. God, Louis could do this for hours. _Has_ , too. He moves, unfolds his legs so he is lying half on top of Harry and can rest his weight there, so that he can bury his hand in Harry's mane, eliciting another contented sound from his lover. Harry's hands are not to be left in the dust, and they have a good grip on Louis' waist and the back of his neck. They make out lazily, pace tame even though they're acutely aware of how _interested_ their lower halves are becoming.

Louis wriggles up a fraction, both of them moan at the friction. He does so because he knows he loves when Harry has to tilt up into a kiss about as much as Harry does. So he makes it happen, and Harry groans knowingly, smiling against his lips before fusing their mouths back together. Louis whimpers quietly when Harry squeezes the back of his neck, and Harry's hips stutter in response. Their erections rub together through fabric and Louis stiffens, biting at Harry's lip. Harry huffs, splaying a wide and possessive paw on Louis' ass cheek and pressing down, grinding. The kiss turns downright _filthy_.

Louis' hands wander, map their way around the familiar dips and curves of Harry's body. His neck, his chest, his waist, his inner elbow, his wrist, tangles their fingers. Every time he grazes a place where he knows a tattoo lays, he feels the phantom tingle of _magic_. _Harry_ makes him believe in magic, because this, what they have, is just too out of this world to just be... common. They're fucking _ace_.

Harry as a low purr at the back of his throat, long, slow swipes of tongues and catch of stubble spurring them on. “God, I want you so bad.”

Louis shivers, untangles their hands and presses Harry's to his side. “...right here.” He whispers hotly, too dazed to properly grin at their old gimmick. _I want you. I need you. I'm right here. Baby, I'm right here. Always yours._

Harry chuckles against his lips, sound dying in a choked off noise when Louis opens his mouth wide under his jaw. “... you wanna?”

Louis gives a small noise of confirmation, nodding faintly, and keeps mouthing at Harry's neck, unable to fight the steady rocking motion of his hips against his boyfriend's.

Harry makes a broken noise, gasps quietly, and Louis feels his labored swallow against his lips. “I mean...” Harry catches Louis' hand again, and Louis is jolted back to reality when he feels the soft fabric tangled between their fingers. He pulls back, a bit breathless. “... you wanna try? Now?”

“Do you?” The words fall out of Louis' lips before he can even _think_ them. Harry watches him, and maybe he knows that after all that Louis has put himself out there, he's the one who has to take the plunge this time. So he nods. Something in Louis' chest explodes. It's mildly worrying, but Louis can't care that he may be experiencing a cardiac event. He's whimpering and kissing Harry like it's the last chance he has to. “Me too. Fuck, Haz.”

“Yeah.” Harry mewls into the embrace, huffs and rolls them over before pressing Louis into the mattress hungrily. Louis clings desperately. Harry _is_ Louis' cardiac event.

He buries both hands up in Harry's hair, strands tickling his lids, temples and cheeks. There's a pressure in his chest, like laughter fighting to be let out, at how happy he feels. Harry presses kisses along the line of his jaw, down his neck, behind his ear, always circling back to claim Louis' lips again. They catch their breath, forehead pressed together, before, inexplicably, Harry pushes off and away. Louis whines, hand reaching for him and falling against the bedsheets. “Where are you going?” he rasps plaintively. He shivers at the loss of body heat, of skin against skin.

Harry is sitting at the foot of the bed, one leg folded, and twisted at the waist so he can look back at him. He swallows. “... I wanna-...” he blinks.

Louis doesn't know whether it's because he's looking for the right words or the courage to say them. He makes a lazy, grabbing motion of his hand, fingers rustling softly against the fabric. “What?” he asks gently.

Harry lets out a small sigh and sags in on himself, but he stays away from physical contact. “I wanna cool off.”

 _But..._ Louis frowns. “I thought-...”

Harry closes his eyes, a small smile grazing his lips before he looks up and it slides off his face. What Louis is left looking at is unsettling, because he's never quite seen it before. There's fondness, love, lust, hunger. All of that fits with the moment. There's also determination, which is... new, in this specific context. “I want you to make me hard again,” Harry breathes. “when I'm wearing them.”

 _Holy-..._ Louis shivers violently. It has nothing to do with the absence of warmth, this time. “Jesus, Hazza.”

Louis' heart seems intent on trying to pound its way out of his chest. Harry falls back against the mattress, parallel to him, and Louis scoots closer. He wonders if he's allowed to touch, until Harry reaches out and links their hands, grip firm.

Okay. So... cooling off. Because then Harry will put on what Louis had Zayn distract Paul so he could sneak into Victoria's Secret for and then they'll... Because he wants Louis to-... Louis grips himself through his sweats, trying to relieve the insane pressure. Next to him, Harry's breath hitches, and he coughs quietly. “This isn't working so well.”

Louis snorts in laughter, turning to find green eyes crinkled in amusement looking back at him. He bites his lower lip. “I don't wanna let go, though.”

Harry's thumb strokes the back of his hand and he squeezes. “Me neither.”

What they need is a distraction. “We should talk.”

“Kay.”

“You go.”

Harry chuffs, then resettles on the mattress. “You know, I'm sure me in that tutu isn't the only thing making the rounds on tumblr right now.”

Louis grins. “Are you talking about Liam almost choking to death or Niall nearly falling off his platform in laughter?”

Harry beams. “Both, actually.”

“Really, though, I was with Zayn, what actually happened?” Upon seeing Harry's smile, Louis shifts a little and settles in for story time, ignoring the uncomfortable drag of his sweats against his otherwise bare privates.

“Uh... well I guess Niall would say Liam tried pulling a Styles?”

Louis snorts. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. He took the banana _from me_.” Louis snickers. Harry and his snacks on stage has become a gimmick now, acknowledged by all. Louis wonders why on Earth he's even still allowed to be such a smug tease about it, but for some reason pre teen girls that fiercely believe Harry to be straight think it's... funny? So. “He didn't like, go grab one. He snatched it form my hand with a frown, you know, like 'gimme that'... to get a laugh out of the crowd.”

“And it worked. I heard that. I think the next town over heard that.”

“Yeah, but... did you see what he did?”

“No. But I saw your face. And we almost lost Niall over it. So I really wanna know.”

Harry laughs. “Well...” he says when he quiets again. “he pealed it and... pretty much took most of it in in one go.”

“No wonder he chocked, that idiot!” Louis cries between giggles.

“Ah, no actually, that's the beauty of it.” Harry looks positively _delighted_. “And I will bet you that lots of people have picked up on it and the internet is blowing up right now... he only choked when he saw my face and started laughing.”

“... what?”

Harry nods. “Yup. Leeyum showed that he could basically deep throat with no prep. To an entire stadium,” he says gravely, before breaking into a smirk. “and you missed it.”

“Oh my god,” Louis wheezes. “you two are getting so bad. There are kids out there, man!”

“Hey! I didn't have anything to do with it this time!” Harry protests.

“This time!” Louis hasn't really recovered from the last time he went on tumblr and saw, from many different angles, pictures, gifs and _videos_ of Harry, at the drop of a bat – more accurately, at Liam being a tiny bit suggestive – just... cool as a cucumber, pretending to give two blowjobs at once. He blushes all over, just thinking about it. He could never have found the guts to just... do that. Let alone in their situation and with _kids_ in the audience. And they call _him_ cheeky. Really.

“Why did he even do that?” Harry muses, laughter coloring his voice.

“Well... I have it on good authority that Zayn is, uh... quite long, while, um... interested?” Louis says with a face.

Harry ducks an inquisitive eyebrow at him. “... and you know that... how?”

He cringes. “... I've learned to knock.” Judging by Harry's giggle, Louis must have looked adorably disgruntled.

“Oh, and today we learned that he's quite large too, apparently. Or, uh... _thick_ , as Liam put it.”

“Ugh.”

Harry snorts. “I'd bitch about TMI, but we've done worse around the lads.”

Louis beams at him. “Oh yeah.” They lapse into silence for a while, until... “I'm glad it's working, though.”

“Huh?”

“Um...” Louis purses his lips. “Lee's doing serious shit to try and get rid of his gag reflex. Like... he researched stuff and came to _me_ for advice with it.”

Harry claps a hand over his mouth and lets out a loud laugh. “Oh, my god!” his eyes crinkle with mirth. “Why am I always the last to know those things?!”

“Because since I'm the one who blushes less, people assume I'm the kinkiest out of you and I.” Which leads to knowing much more about his best friends that he sometimes wishes. So it's his duty, really, to share the burden with Harry.

“When in reality...” Harry trails off, and Louis turns to give him a calm smile. “we're kind of a perfect match.”

 _The_ perfect match.

Their grins trail off and fade away. Harry sighs, leans forward to kiss Louis' lips before he pushes off the bed.

Louis watches him go with a seemingly innocent piece of fabric balled in his fist. Turning his face, he stares up at the ceiling and exhales loudly through his nose, trying to calm his heart rate. Trepidation is an almost tangible buzz throughout his entire body. This is important. This is one of those bucket list moments, but also a decisive one. If they somehow fuck this up, it's likely to fuck _them_ up, even if just for a while. Whether it goes wrong or right will determine if it'll happen again. If they'll ever be comfortable and confident enough to bring up these random ideas in the future.

Then again, he's with _Harry_. He's safe.

It's going to be a blast.

When Harry pads back into the bedroom, he's got sweat pants slung low on his hips, a flush high on his chest and cheeks and his hair pushed back like he just ran his hand through it. “God, you're gorgeous.” Louis breathes out.

Harry stops a few steps away from the bed. He looks fond, a little startled. He watches Louis, who is still lying there, both feet on the ground, one hand resting on his sternum, the other on the bed by his side. “What?” Louis prompts when it lasts long enough to make him want to squirm.

“Look who's talking.” Harry says, softly.

“Tss..”

The bed dips with the weight of one knee. “No. Seriously,” Harry crawls over to his side, eyes trapping Louis'. “You should see what I see.”

“ _Harreh._ ” Louis drags out, turning his head away.

Harry catches his chin and waits patiently – as usual – until Louis gives in and meets his gaze again. “You take my breath away. All the time.”

Louis bites his lip to keep from blurting out something to minimize Harry's statement. Forces himself to swallow. Instead, he reaches up and cups his face, digs fingers into his hair. “You know. I still can't quite believe that I get to call you mine. That you ever even wanted to call me yours.”

Harry's eyes say _'I know. I know you don't. I wish I could destroy that self doubt inside of you once and for all'_ as he slides their hands together. Tattoos aligning, from wrists to hips to toes. “Always. Always yours.” He sinks down, and presses theirs lips together. “I've always been yours. I was just waiting to meet you.”

Louis clings to him, chest heavy with unched sobs of emotional overload and happiness and love. So much love for this boy. His.

Harry nuzzles in the crook of Louis' shoulder and sighs contentedly. “God, it's good to be home.”

Louis closes his eyes, one hand burrowing through Harry's hair so he can massage the scalp. “Fuck, yeah.” No more hotels for a while. No more waiting to be in private to acknowledge each other, no more waiting to be alone to reach out and touch. No more getting up early to cram one last snuggle in before a day of bullshitting through interviews. No more jumping form plane to plane on five hours of sleep. No more watching the dark circle under Zayn's eyes look more and more like bruises. No more watching Niall's smile dim. No more of Liam becoming increasingly hyper and obnoxious from the lack of sleep. No more hugs that are _needed_ to be able to carry on, instead of shared out of affection and companionship. All they wanted was to make music. All five of them need some time now, to rest, to hang around and improvise silly 2am jam sessions to remember it. To remember why it's all worth it.

“Let's not stop sprawling for more than an hour at a time for the next week, yeah?” Harry mumbles against his neck.

“Hm. Sounds perfect.” Louis drags his lips sideways against Harry's collarbone. “Breakfast in bed. Lunch on the day bed, and dinner on the couch.”

Harry hums approvingly. “Dress code... minimal.”

Louis snorts, flicks his tongue out to lick at the hollow above the clavicle.

Harry shivers. He seeks Louis' hand and presses it flat to his bum. Louis imagines he can feel soft fabric and lace through the sweats. “Speaking of dress code.”

Louis takes a shuddering breath. He doesn't open his eyes when he use his grip on Harry's hair to maneuver him into a sloppy kiss. It's dirty and has them both groaning and shifting gears quickly. Harry rolls away and scoots up the bed, watching Louis, propped up on his elbows. And Louis just _knows_.

Right that instant, he knows what's about to happen. How it's gonna go. What he's gonna do. And he smiles.

Harry smiles back, serene, like this is what he was waiting for. Either for Louis to take control, or for him to relax and know everything was fine. His next blink is slow, feline. Louis crawls over.

He reaches Harry, slides a hand behind his neck and kisses him quick and filthy. Harry groans. Louis pulls back and smirks at him. “So I'm doing this?” he challenges, Harry blinks back. “You should grab some pillows, love. Your arms aren't going to hold you up long with what I plan to do to you.”

Harry bites his lip, smiles and does as told, lying back against a pile so as to be half seated. So that he can _watch_.

Louis shuffles down, tracing his hand down Harry's torso, over his stomach until he cups him through the sweats. Harry huffs out a breath. “Look at you,” Louis croons, tugging the sweats down. Harry whines, and Louis almost bites his own tongue at the sight.

Even half hard, Harry is quite big. The panties, obviously not made for that kind of feat, are tented by the effort of holding him in. The front of them is a shiny charcoal, sporting a darker patch on one side where Harry is already leaking pre-come. The sides are lace, see through and pretty, dipping down towards the middle to expose the crease where Harry's body folds into his thighs. Louis can't believe he didn't think about it at all, but he picked the perfect design. The fabric gives way to the lace as though to display Louis' initial on purpose. Groaning in approval, Louis can't help diving down to press his face against the lace covered tattoo, mouthing roughly. Harry gasps, hand shooting forward and hovering, as he stops himself from interfering. Instead, he lays his trempling fingers on the bed by his side.

Louis pulls back, head spinning and erection painful in his sweats, and helps Harry out of his own. He palms Harry's hips, just _looks_. Damn.

When he just can't hold back, he traces the edges of the fabric, touch pressing it into Harry's skin. Teasing, he strokes sensitive areas but purposefully avoids the one that would provide relief. Harry makes valiant efforts at keeping it all in, but the quiet gasps and choked off whines are consistent with the way his stomach is shaking with the effort to keep from thrusting.

He teases Harry to full hardness with fleeting touches of his fingertips, wet kisses to his stomach and thighs and filthy words whispered into his skin. Harry steps in, then, when his length springs out from under the waistband. He slaps his hand on it, whining low at the double edged sword of _pleasure_ and _not enough_. Louis almost loses control right then, when Harry _pushes it back in_. Shaky and panting, Harry tucks his erection back into the panties as well as he can, pushing it to the side so a good half of it – fuck – shows from under the lace. Harry hisses at the sensation, but falls back against the cushions like he's satisfied. Louis doesn't know what to make of it. Lace on the head, that aroused and sensitive, can't be comfortable. Then again, Harry's the kind to enjoy, even _encourage_ , a little bit of teeth.

That just breaks through the last of Louis' self control. He covers Harry with his hand and squeezes. “Louis...”

“I know, baby...” Louis replaces his hand with his face, breathing Harry in. “I got you.” The response is wordless, and Louis rubs his cheek against the soft fabric that covers the hard flesh before he turns his head and starts kissing it. Harry gasps again, reaching for loose sheets to hold onto.

Louis gets a bit lost in what he's doing. He _cannot_ be blamed. Sex with Harry is fantastic. Any way they have it, it's amazing. He firmly believes that its not just the old 'being in love with your partner' thing, they're also freaking compatible. Made for each other. For each other's bodies. So the sex is mind blowing, always. But Louis really gets off on giving him head or eating him out. Zayn, who's also quite a big fan, says there's probably something to be said about not getting over the oral fixation stage. It's not that Louis disagrees, but he thinks it's also a five senses thing. He gets to smell Harry's arousal, the scent of his skin. He gets to taste him, chase the different flavors. He's gotten so good at telling them apart that, even with all the other cues and clues removed, he's pretty sure he could tell when Harry's about to come just by the way he tastes, the way his scent sharpens. So it's a close call, who's more noisy and enthusiastic as he mouths at Harry's cock through the fabric.

He opens wide and brings his teeth against the fabric softly, dragging them teasingly as he closes his mouth. Harry cries out, throwing his head backwards. “Shhh, Hazza...” Louis calls, stroking his belly. “Baby,” Harry touches his hand and looks back, eyes blown and looking utterly wrecked. “Hazza, babe, I'd like it if you kept watching,” he says. “Can you do that? Is that okay?”

Harry's eyes are blown dark. He nods, tongue flicking out to lick his lips before he swallows. He nods again. _I love you so much_ , Louis thinks fiercely.

He rubs up and down Harry's length, mouthing all the way down to his balls. Harry whimpers, and Louis closes his eyes, giving into his instincts. Even though it takes an effort of will on Harry's part, Louis wants him to watch for his benefit as well. Having an audience actually makes him quite self conscious, even though it's a bit of a thrill, because it has to look awkward, right? Except experience has thought him that watching Harry when their positions are reversed is _insane_. And he knows it gives Harry a kick to watch as well, mostly because that's when he usually starts to babble about how beautiful and incredible Louis is, pressing his thumb past Louis' lips and losing it because Louis _lets him_. Today, though, Harry keeps a desperate grip on the sheets and lets Louis do as he pleases. And so he does.

Dipping down to nuzzle under Harry's sack, he presses a kiss to the taught muscle there, warm beneath the fabric. Harry moans, mouth now open as he pants, staring, and kicks a knee up, leg falling open. Louis groans approvingly, switching up so he can massage Harry gently while he sucks at his length. “Lou...”

Louis flicks his eyes up to catch his gaze, mouthing to the head and tonguing at it through the lace. Harry swears, hips rocking up. It's a power trip to know you're the cause of that, of how wrecked Harry looks and sounds. He sucks at him from the base up, laving at the fabric until it's damp and clinging like a second skin. He sucks pre-come through it ravenously, until all he can taste is Harry as though there is no cloth between them. It's good, _lovely_ , but a torture for Louis as well. As much as he's having the time of his life right now, he has to fight the urge to yank the bloody thing out of his way and stuff his face full of Harry like he craves, more and more with every taste he gets, with every moan he brings to life. He has to control the way he wants to claw at something in sheer frustration and want, his grip so hard on Harry's hip that there is no doubt there will be bruises later. Harry keens at regular intervals, fighting a loosing battle against the urge to roll his hips. Shaking, Louis sucks at Harry's cock, moving to the now steadily leaking head, stealing away the taste for himself greedily. Harry's pants are loud and carry inarticulate sounds with each exhale, chest rising and falling quickly with shallow, exhilarated breaths.

Louis seeks with his fingers, pushing the fabric in between Harry's cheeks, and Harry whimpers, hitches his hips up and tries to help him. Louis swallows, licks his lips and then takes the head of Harry's cock between his lips, the lace making it _almost_ feel like he's licking at the skin _._ He presses against Harry's hole, stretching the fabric painfully taught over the front, and sucks _hard_. Harry comes with a shout, body arched back and rigid as he spasms under Louis' lips. Shuddering, Louis keeps rubbing circles and mouthing at him until the tension breaks. Like a puppet with the strings cut off, Harry exhales and becomes loose again. He sags, his leg falling limply back onto the bed.

“Holy fucking Christ, _Hazza_...” Louis moans, mostly to himself.

When Harry gets back to his senses enough to blink down at him, Louis still hasn't moved. He lies, dazed and panting, face mushed on the crease of Harry's hip. He stares, cross-eyed, at the messy spot that is slowly spilling over his inked initial and out from under the panties. “Babe,” Harry gestures for him to crawl up with a lazy hand. He looks stoned.

Louis fights the bonelessness that's taken over him and gathers himself up to crawl over and snuggle up to him.

“I wanna...” Harry mumbles, reaching for him.

Louis catches his hand and laces their fingers together instead. “That, uh... that won't be necessary.”

“You...?” Harry blinks at him owlishly. “Already?”

Louis nods, biting his lips. He refuses to feel embarrassed to be all hot and bothered because his man throws him for a loop every so often, even after all this time.

“Did you...?” Harry reads the answer on Louis' face when he looks up. “just from...?”

Louis flushes, but he holds his ground. “That was fucking beautiful, Haz,” he whispers.

Harry responds in a Harry fashion, hauling Louis into his arms and squeezing him tight. “I love you, I love you, I love you...”

Louis giggles, face squished against Harry's cheek. “Love you too, you octopus.”

“Aww...” He's shaking with drunken laughter when he pulls back enough for them to exchange a messy kiss. Louis would protest being made fun off, but he's laughing into it too. He gets his revenge minutes later when Harry blushes very pretty, and all over, as he wriggles out of the, um, mangled panties.

Later, when they're done washing each other off and are lazily snuggling under the spray, Harry presses his lips to Louis' forehead. “So? What are you gonna tell Zayn?”

Louis pulls back from his neck to blink up at him. “Hm?”

“About.. you know, tonight.”

“Oh. Nothing.” He trails his arms up Harry's, links his hands behind his neck, sighing when Harry's hands settle on his hips in response. “He probably won't ask. But if he does, I'll just give him a thumbs up.” He strokes his fingers into the hair at the nape of Harry's neck and leans up. “This is just ours.”

“Ours,” Harry whispers, before he meets him halfway.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Ten Feet Tall – Afrojack  
> Other songs that provided background music to the sexy times where:  
> Fuck You All The Time (shlohmo remix) - Jeremih  
> Red Alert - Basement Jaxx  
> Pony – Ginuwine  
> Skin – Rhianna  
> Breathe On Me – Britney Spears  
> Sexe – Saez (that one's in French... cause so am I)  
> Lionheart – Afrojack (they claim it's the original mix here: youtube.com/watch?v=QcvmJTH84KA, but I kind of love the added voice sample to it (also, it's so very Harry)...)  
> Noisia - Alpha Centauri (Receptor Remix)
> 
> This isn't exactly what the prompt called for, but that is what came to mine and it wouldn't leave, so I decided not to fight it.
> 
> I'm not completely satisfied with the flow of it, but the deadline being what it is, I wanted to post rather than fiddle with it more with no guaranty that it'd get better. I hope you like it anyway!


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